“GUARDS!” EGMUN CRIED.
Vhalla glanced back at Craig and Daniel. They were frozen in place, and the odd sense of wonder on Daniel’s face as he looked at her told Vhalla their stillness wasn’t entirely from fear.
“Guards!” Egmun bellowed and they sprang to life, pushing her to the ground roughly, their swords drawn. The tips pressed into the back of Vhalla’s neck.
“Calm down!” Victor cried, his hands in the air.
“She’s a monster!” shrieked one senator.
“We’re not safe here!” wailed another.
“Vhalla wouldn’t hurt anyone,” the master attempted.
“It isn’t natural,” a man shouted.
“You old fool, it’s amazing,” came a lone voice, though one or two others muttered agreement.
The shouts and arguments became more heated, and Vhalla felt the boots of the guards on her back. She’d made a mistake. Without thinking or planning, she’d used her magic in front of everyone. Vhalla struggled to twist her head to see, very aware that sudden movements could be permanently detrimental to her health.
“We should kill her now,” one man bellowed.
“How can we kill such a power?” a woman snapped back. “It has utility!”
“The most important thing about power is how someone uses it!” Victor attempted, though Vhalla wasn’t sure if he was heard. “She can do great things!”
The Emperor began banging his staff.
“We will rue the day if we let her out of here alive,” one senator said.
“Kill her now!” screamed another.
Vhalla looked out at the scene; most of the senators were on their feet. Some were fighting with each other, more were arguing with Victor on the dais below. Egmun stood silently, a mad smile creeping up on his features. He’d won. He showed she didn’t have control over a different and frightening power.
“Silence!” the Emperor roared, and the whole room fell into a startled hush. Everyone realized, all at once, that they had forgotten themselves. He rose to his feet and descended from the royal platform. Mohned, Victor, and Egmun parted with a bow of their head as he walked through, but his attention was glued on her.
Vhalla twisted her head slightly; one eye was squinted shut against the floor, and the other was partly covered by her hair. He knelt down before her on the other side of the bars, and placed a hand on his raised knee. The Emperor regarded her curiously.
“Let her sit,” he ordered.
Vhalla felt Craig and Daniel remove their feet from her back. She eased up slowly, their sword points still at her neck. Vhalla risked a movement to pull her hair from her eyes.
“My lord, I don’t think—” Egmun started.
“Silence, Egmun.” The Emperor held up a hand. The most powerful man in the realm considered Vhalla for a long moment, his blue eyes searching her for something. Eventually she looked down at her hands folded in her lap, unsure what he wanted to see. “Could you strike me down where I am now?” he asked.
“My lord?” Vhalla couldn’t believe her ears. Was it a trick? Or a test?
“You are shackled, with swords at your throat, behind bars. Could you still strike me down?” Though his eyes looked nothing like Aldrik’s, she felt a familiar intensity in them and it gave her pause.
“I’ve never thought about doing something like that, and my magic seems strange right now... But I suppose I may be able to,” she answered honestly.
The Emperor nodded. “Did you try to kill my son?” he asked.
She met his eyes. “No,” Vhalla’s voice was small, but strong, like a finely forged rapier. “I would only ever want to save your son.”
She thought back to Aldrik on his knees, not unlike how she was now, with swords at his throat. It rattled her from the inside out; it fueled her resolve. Even under the Emperor’s searching gaze she did not look away. In this one moment, Vhalla had nothing to hide.
The Emperor nodded. “Take off her shackles.” The Emperor stood and Daniel quickly sheathed his sword to fumble with the locks on her wrists.
“My lord, we should consider—” Egmun began to protest.
“Egmun, if this girl wanted to kill any of us, she could have and would have by now.” This realization seemed to rattle some senators as much as it calmed others.
Her chains removed, Vhalla stood on doe-like legs and rubbed her wrists gently. Even if she was still in a prison, she felt marginally better without being cuffed and chained.
The Emperor continued to study at her. “Vhalla Yarl.”
She looked up; it was the first time he’d used her name.
“Have you ever conspired to harm my Empire?”
“No, of course not,” she answered directly.
“Did you conspire with the Northerners on the night of Fire and Wind?” he asked, his eyes continuing to rest heavy on her.
Vhalla’s mouth dropped open. “No!” she snapped, not caring to whom she spoke. “They killed my friend, they threatened my home, and they—” She stopped herself and his eyebrows raised. Vhalla’s eyes flicked over to Aldrik. “They...” she repeated again. How much would he want her to say? “They did something unforgivable.”
“What happened that night?” the Emperor asked.
“I was at the Gala,” Vhalla began. “I was...there when the explosion happened. I saw where it happened. My friends were near its center; I had to go help them. So I ran through the city. I found them, then the Northerners were upon me a-and...” She was struggling with leaving Aldrik out of her story. “I thought they would keep hurting people. They were going to kill me and I only wanted them to die.”
“And the crown prince?” the Emperor asked.
She cursed inwardly. Of course that wouldn’t be forgotten easily. Vhalla took a deep breath finally looking away. “He...” He, what? He had been a supporting and guiding figure since the summer? He inspired her? He was someone who made her smile as much as he had made her want to kick something? Vhalla shifted her gaze to the senators, who seemed to be hanging on her every word.
“He’s a much better a person than I’ve heard people give him credit for. He’s worth a lot more than many of the people in this room, and it’s not just because of the crown on his head.” She looked back at the Emperor. “He wanted to help. If I am guilty for anything, it was putting him in a position where he felt compelled to do so.”
A stunned silence filled the room. Even Egmun couldn’t seem to find anything to comment on. She wasn’t sure if she had damned herself, or if Aldrik would be enraged at her for it, but she didn’t regret her words. Eventually, she looked down and grabbed the sides of her sack.
Without a word, the Emperor relinquished his stare, turned and walked back to his throne. Vhalla felt the eyes of everyone in the room on her but her attention sought out the gaze of only one.
Aldrik made no motion. He concealed his emotions even from her. Vhalla sighed softly and looked down again; it was hopeless. Everything she thought she knew about her and the prince was wrong. Why else wouldn’t he speak for her?
“I think we have enough to reach our decision. Do you have any more to say on your behalf, Vhalla Yarl?” the Emperor asked.
She shook her head, not raising her eyes again.
“I propose a motion that we reach our verdict tomorrow. Our Empire is at war and has more pressing matters than this. If there are no objections?” Naturally, no one stepped forward to speak against the Emperor. “Guards, take the prisoner away.”
Vhalla turned and Craig pulled open the door. She followed Daniel out, not looking back for a moment. The walk back to her prison was in silence. But they made no motion to return her shackles.
Within her cell, the walls closed around her. Vhalla sat by the door, her back against the bars to avoid giving the impression she wanted to speak. She rested her head against a bar gently; the pressure on the back of her skull was a welcome pain.
She sighed and closed her eyes. It would be another day of waiting—and then, her fate. At least she would be out of here soon. The end of the trial seemed to have gone in her favor, but it had started so poorly. Their cries, calling for her death, echoed through her ears.
The next morning, Vhalla woke to the same dim light of her cell and wondered what time it was. She rubbed her eyes, blinking away sleep. They fed her last night, but it was only scraps of bread. Her stomach wasn’t in too much pain though, her sparse eating habits paying off.
The sack was beginning to itch, and she desperately desired to bathe and change. Even if they put her back into a burlap thing, she wanted to get out of this one. A heavy sigh relieved a small amount of stress and tried to keep the sanity-threatening memories at bay. She had to compartmentalize and lock the thoughts away to survive.
“Oh, you’re up.” Daniel had heard her. “Want breakfast?”
Vhalla nodded.
“I’ll see what I can find,” Craig said before running off.
“What time is it?” she asked, moving closer to the bars.
“I think an hour or two past dawn.” Daniel turned and knelt.
“Have they begun?” She didn’t need to clarify they. He nodded. “Yeah, not too long ago. I’ve no idea how it’s going,” he said apologetically.
“It’s all right.” She picked at the stray threads of her sack, suddenly feeling less hungry thinking about the men and women in the courtroom.
Craig returned with a small roll and a handful of grapes. “It’s all I could get; they weren’t really planning on feeding you, apparently.” He passed it through the bars and she began nibbling and picking at the food.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Egmun told them part of my powers was not needing to eat,” she said bitterly, certain he was spinning lies about her right now. Both men chuckled and she forced down the last of the bread.
“We’re going to take you to the Chapel of Dawn today,” Daniel said. She looked up curiously. “Baldair told us that normally a prisoner likes to pray before their verdict, asking for fairness and wisdom from the Mother. Or absolution from their crimes.”
Vhalla had never been a particularly spiritual person, but she would take any excuse to leave her cage. The Chapel of Dawn was the official place of worship for the Imperial Family and capital. It was one of the highest public places in the palace. To get to the chapel, the common folk used an outdoor stairway not far from the Sunlit Stage. It was where the Crones of the Mother were ordained and where coming of age, weddings, and other religious ceremonies were held for the Imperial Family.
The day passed. Vhalla inspected her wounds and found them red and puffy, but no worse. It was the not knowing that began to drive her mad. If she could walk outside of her body like Aldrik had once implied she could, then perhaps Vhalla could listen in on the courtroom. But the idea of being stuck out of her body again kept her rooted firmly in place, doing little more than rolling pebbles across the floor and back.
“Let’s go,” Craig said finally. Vhalla pulled herself to her feet and ran a hand through her hair, snagging on tangles almost immediately. “I’m not going to shackle you, so please don’t run.”
“I promise,” she agreed, not sure if these guards were exceptionally smart, or extraordinarily stupid for trusting her. Whatever the case, she was glad they did and that they allowed her to walk silently between them.
She’d done little all day, but Vhalla found the walk exhausting. The path was entirely underground, up dimly lit stairwells, and cobweb cluttered halls. They passed no one else, which led her to assume she was in some kind of temporary holding and not the labyrinth of dungeons that were rumored to exist beneath the palace.
Eventually they came to a rather plain door. There was a blazing sun upon it, crafted from bronze but tarnished with age. It protested Daniel’s attempts to open it, starting to budge only when he put his shoulder into it.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” He coughed up dust.
“It’s what the prince told me.” Craig shrugged. “Maybe it’s been a while since the last person?”
“It’s been a long while,” Daniel muttered.
She was thankful that Craig had thought to grab a torch a while back. For a brief moment, Vhalla’s heart raced as she realized that she was very far from anyone else, alone with two guards. But as the muted lights of the Chapel began to stream in through the door, she breathed easy.
They walked into a small sub-room of the Chapel that Vhalla had never seen before. There was a large altar. Over it was a sculpture of the Goddess holding out her arms. She was swathed in life-giving flame and had a firm, but kind, expression on her face. On the altar were a series of ritual artifacts, a golden mirror supported by white marble, a steel dagger, and black and white candles. There were only four kneeling pillows set out and they looked old and worn. Vhalla assumed the pillows were once white, but now they were threadbare and gray with dust.
There was another door that Vhalla surmised led into the main area of the chapel. It seemed to be in better care and was reinforced with iron and a golden lock. Daniel kicked off his boots before entering the sacred space to try the other door. This door did not budge either, but gave a tell-tale clank of a lock engaging.
“I guess we’ll wait outside here then.” He shrugged, yanking his shoes back on. “It’s the only access, so we know you can’t run.”
“Give you privacy in your prayers,” Craig offered.
Vhalla gave them both a small smile. They couldn’t give her much, but what they could they did. With a nod both departed, leaving her alone.
They hadn’t given her shoes, so she had nothing to strip before entering the hallowed ground—but she wished she had something to wash her feet and hands with. Walking over to one of the pillows, Vhalla sat listlessly, watching the dancing flames envelop the sculpture of the Mother. It was hypnotic and, while it did not resemble prayer, there was something peaceful to it. The Crones said the Mother looked after all her children; Vhalla wondered if she had been lost or forgotten. One mother had already left her, maybe that was simply her fate.
The sculptures turned into reliefs around the outer walls. Each held a story of Mother Sun and her eternal dance with Father Moon. The Mother crafting the earth; their false child, the dragon of chaos; their splitting of the world to keep the disorder from their true children, humanity; she knew all the stories. Every tale was a memory of a book she had read on that beloved window seat. Her eyes began to burn.
Quickly wiping her cheeks, Vhalla turned in place as the chapel door opened slowly and silently. A figure swathed in maroon glided across the threshold. The Crones of the Mother wore a deep red color to signify the departing light of the sun, a symbol that their vigil would last until the end of their days. The door closed silently and the Crone locked it again.
“Crone,” she said uncertainly. “I’ve come for my prayers before my fate,” Vhalla tried to explain, concerned she would be presumed to be somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.
Two hands reached up and pulled the hood backward.
“I know,” it was a deep masculine voice.
“Aldrik?” Vhalla gasped in shock.
The brim of his collar on his white jacket extended beyond the top of the large hood, and he wore his golden crown.
“Do not speak too loudly.” He glanced around before walking over quickly. Aldrik knelt down on a pillow across from her. “Are you well?”
“Aside from the obvious?” She grinned weakly.
He frowned. “This is not a game, Vhalla,” he scolded her lightly.
“Oh? I’m sorry, I thought it was. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been having so much fun.” She wasn’t in the mood to be spoken to in that tone.
He looked at her with a frown, chewing over his words. “Your new guards, are they treating you well?” Aldrik finally asked.
It confirmed her fears. She was a broken little thing to him. Vhalla inhaled sharply as anger rose within her. Nothing compared to the hatred the thought of Rat and Mole put in her stomach. Remembering Egmun’s eyes on her made her want to die. It compounded as she thought of Roan and Sareem, the guilt she had struggled with for days since parting with them before their deaths—or near death in Roan’s case. Even anger at the master and prince for consorting behind her back sent a pang of frustration through her. Every last thing Vhalla could have been angry about came to her then in the wake of her fear and shame.
“What do you care?” she spat at him. Aldrik blinked as though she’d slapped him across the face. “You, you’ve gone behind my back; you’ve become a puppeteer in my life; you lied to me; you threw me off a roof; you taught me recklessly; you forged my signature.” It was hopeless, the tears came freely. “You wouldn’t even speak for me!”
He grabbed her upper arms fiercely, and Vhalla twisted frantically.
“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked in horror. Aldrik released her, shock and pain across his face. She held herself, feeling every emotion come tumbling through her eyes. “I-I’m just a pitiable thing to you, worthless trash, why would you touch me?” Vhalla pressed her eyelids closed and curled into a seated ball of sobs.
By the time he finally moved, her stomach hurt from her crying. Vhalla expected him to leave. She wanted him to hate her so that she could validate the hate she felt in herself. However, he didn’t go. Hatred would have been easier than the frustration and pain that was rife upon his face.
The prince’s mouth opened and closed, but his silver tongue failed him. Frustrated, he grabbed the pillow next to him and stood in a half turn, throwing it toward the wall. It incinerated in a burst of flame before hitting anything. He stood with his back to her, panting softly.
“I,” his voice was deep and ragged, “I am not a good man. Maybe I have never been a good man. Out of that sham of a trial the hardest part was to hear you waste words to defend me when all I wanted you to do was defend yourself.”
“I would’ve let the city burn had it not been for you.” He chuckled, and it was a crazed and crackling sound, void of its normal velvety hues. Vhalla struggled to believe his words. “I was in no position to leave the palace wounded as I am, so I would have sat in the safest place I could find and waited it out.” He turned, searching her face.
“Does it shock you? Aren’t you disgusted with your prince? I would’ve been happier watching the flames consume half the damn city to purge the filth, even if it meant sacrificing the good with it. Those are my subjects! People I am sworn to protect!” He threw out his hands. “You’re right, about it all. I wanted you. The moment I found out what you were, I wanted you like a prize to be captured and put on my shelf. And you, Vhalla, you made it so easy to manipulate you to walk right where I wanted you to. You, with your transparent innocence.”
“Stop,” she whispered. His words stung deeply.
“Like an ignorant fool, you trusted me and never once questioned my guiding hand—even knowing my reputation!” Vhalla looked away; she didn’t want to hear anymore. “You’re right, I had it all lined up. The master knew as soon as I suspected, but he would not go against the will of the crown prince, not even to warn you. The Minister of Sorcery didn’t know what he had in you, he may have let you go! It fell to me to ensure that you fell and awoke to your powers. You may have gone to the master in your own time, but all those choices you thought you had? That paper was signed while you were still recovering from your fall! The master knew you were already gone, even if you did not know it yourself. All I had to do was keep pushing you along, being your guiding and caring teacher, and I could’ve had your magic doing whatever my will desired!”
“Aldrik, please...” she begged him, tears choking her.
“And then...” His voice audibly softened. Aldrik’s shoulders slumped and his arms hung limply. “Then I realized I just wanted you around. My days were better when they involved you. I enjoyed your thoughts. It was thrilling to see you discover magic. You had a mad hopefulness about sorcery that I have not felt in almost a decade. I started finding excuses to take you away, not because you needed my teaching but because, because I wanted to see you. I looked forward to our meetings and—like that, Vhalla—your opinion mattered to the crown prince of the Empire. You mattered for who you were, not for your magic and what some dusty texts say Windwalkers may or may not be able to do.”
She blinked up at him, speechless.
“I wanted your forgiveness, as though that innocent acceptance would absolve me of all the blood on my hands. I wanted to see you well and happy. I wanted to see you flourish, and I wanted only a small piece. To know that in you I had made something good. And I truly wanted to keep you from pain.” He balled his hands into fists.
“I knew the best way would have been to remove myself from your life and, by the Mother, I tried. But I was still too self-centered to tolerate that library boy. I should have encouraged you to go off and be with him. Then, despite my efforts, my brother had to meddle— only to torture me—and you wore that damn dress.” He fell down to his knees before her, his fists on the ground and head bowed. Aldrik took a deep breath, it wavered just slightly.
Vhalla’s head swirled as she tried to absorb everything.
“I spoke for you today,” he confessed. Vhalla’s heart skipped a beat. “I did not speak before not because I did not care, but because—because, I am not a good man, Vhalla. My voice is more likely to damn you than save you. There are people in this world—in that room—who will hurt you for the sake of hurting me.” He dropped his head again with a few bangs escaping from the perfect comb set his hair always had.
“People who already have.” He punched the ground with such force that Vhalla jumped and knew without a doubt his knuckles were bloody. If they were, then the pain was nothing to the prince as he continued to kneel rigidly.
Vhalla’s tears had stopped, and she wiped her cheeks with her palms. He made no motion; he barely seemed to be breathing. She took a deep breath and rubbed her nose.
She mattered to Aldrik, Vhalla didn’t have the energy to process the how or why.
“Did those guards really steal from the Empire?” Vhalla asked, finding her voice surprisingly stable.
He sat down again. His knuckles were indeed bloody. “No,” Aldrik answered directly.
Vhalla closed her eyes, and took a breath. “Aldrik,” she said weakly. “What do you want from me, really? What am I to you? Am I a conquest? A trophy? A project? An amusement? A tool?”
He needed to tell her now. Guessing would tear her apart, and his slew of confessions was too muddled for her exhausted brain to sort through. They were nothing until she knew.
“You,” he paused.
She searched his face, trying to understand all the complex emotions that hung upon his lips. Aldrik glanced away with a small sigh, but he returned his eyes to her with a softness they had not possessed in some time. “You are a dear friend. For whatever my royal ass of a friendship is worth.”
Vhalla smiled weakly. She reached out and his body went rigid. “It is worth very much,” she whispered.
He barely seemed to breathe as she leaned over the distance between them to tuck the stray bangs back with the rest of his hair. He reached up and caught her hand gently in his.
“Don’t...” she protested weakly.
He stopped her from withdrawing this time, his grip warm but not painful. “Why?”
“Because I-I,” Vhalla’s lower lip trembled and her cheeks burned.
“You foolish girl,” he murmured. “As anything could make me not want to touch you.”
She tensed but allowed his gentle caress to wipe away the remnants of Rat and Mole’s abuse and Egmun’s words. There was something about his skin alone that was therapeutic. No matter what the world did to her, his warmth remained.
“My magic...” Vhalla said after a long moment, feeling electric tingles under the pads of his fingers. “Is it—broken?”
“Broken?” he asked, the talk of magic relaxing him.
“It hasn’t felt right since I woke up,” she explained.
“Ah,” Aldrik shook his head. “No, not broken. You’re likely exhausted from the exertion. It is a wonder you did not use it up completely, then you would really be in trouble.”
“It’s all trouble, isn’t it?” She laughed weakly and was rewarded with a small smirk from him as well. Vhalla took a deep breath and gathered her strength. “Aldrik, I need your honesty. I don’t care about your reputation. I want you to be open with me.” She paused, swallowing hard. “For however long I may continue to be alive.”
“You shall have it.” The crown prince nodded. “Do not be afraid, Vhalla. I will not let them kill you.” He made two dangerous promises in two breaths. Yet something in his voice told her he was ready to go to great lengths to keep both. Aldrik squeezed her hand gently. “I should return. The break for lunch will be over soon, and after my testimony I am sure they will want me accounted for.”
She gripped his hand as though her life depended on it, feeling tears protest his departure. He stopped all movement. Even after his confessions, after the anger, after all she’d been though, he remained. Aldrik, her prince—good or evil—remained with her. They both stared, waiting for the other to make the first move. Vhalla would have given anything for time to stop.
“Please don’t go,” she whispered faintly. “I don’t want to face their verdict alone.” Her shoulders trembled, and she struggled to keep the tears contained. As the time ticked down Vhalla realized, with earth-shaking horror, the notion of dying terrified her.
“Vhalla...” he breathed faintly. “You are never alone. I will be there.” He took her palm and placed it on his hip, his body was even warmer than his hands. “Never forget, we are Bound.”
Vhalla remembered that dark and ugly spot from the day in the garden. She looked at where her hand now rested on the prince’s side.
“We will face it together.” His tone was sincere and serious. She looked for reassurance, and he lavished it upon her with only his eyes. One more time, Vhalla let herself shamelessly fall into those dark depths, before he rose to leave.